


Two Paths Diverged

by Crossover_Critter



Series: In A Place Where We're Happy [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Injustice: Gods Among Us, Superman (Comics), The Flash (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Hurt Barry Allen, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, POV Barry Allen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:06:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25134343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crossover_Critter/pseuds/Crossover_Critter
Summary: There's who you love and what you believe, and then there's how you deal with reality.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Bruce Wayne
Series: In A Place Where We're Happy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915555
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	Two Paths Diverged

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosely based on the "Injustice" story concept, where Superman has become a killer/dictator in the name of keeping Earth safe and eradicating evil, and Batman has remained wedded to his moral code of no killing. The League is split into two camps, with Batman's followers doing their best to protect the innocent and uphold justice while resolutely not crossing the line. This takes place before Superman and his faction of the League have assumed total control of the world.
> 
> Comments/constructive criticism welcomed and appreciated :)

The flight back was silent. 

I'd been in the League since its founding, and only a handful of times could I recall a moment like this. We'd stopped the bad guy, saved the city; there should have been a "good job" or a "thanks for having my back" on someone's lips, even if only whispered into another's ear. Even if everything had gone to hell, someone could always be counted on for a joke – good-natured or otherwise. Guy or John were the usual suspects for those; between the Lantern and Constantine, anything could be laughed at or mocked in equal measure. 

This time, though, there was nothing. 

Even the trenchcoated, cocksure scouser couldn't muster the will to make one of his trademark lewd comments or light up a cigarette just for the sake of sparking a reaction from the others. He wasn't even fidgeting with his lighter; it was gripped in trembling, white-knuckled hands. 

We might as well have been the dead we'd left behind. At the very least, we were the haunted.

Everything had changed.

We'd finally realized it wasn't really a victory. The first time, yes. The second time, maybe. But the third time the bad guy escapes custody and goes on a murderous rampage, the third time the lifeless eyes of his victims gaze glassily at you in silent accusation, the third time you deliver him to prison and all he does is sneer and shout and promise that he'll be back and more people will die....

If you haven't already questioned whether you're doing the right thing by the second time, you are the third. Because all you can picture is it happening again and again and again. More bodies, more shattered families, and more accusations – from the dead and living alike.

My costume suddenly felt too tight, my lungs burning from lack of oxygen as the spandex seemed to constrict against my chest. I coughed until I tasted bile as my hands fumbled with my cowl, finally yanking it back so I could rest my forehead against the bunker's metal wall. The coppery smell of blood was stuck in my nostrils, and the coughing turned to gagging. It was several long seconds before I could get myself under control. 

I focused on the silence, willing my thoughts to calm and my breathing to return to normal. If I didn't close my eyes, I couldn't see their faces, but it was hard to muster enough energy to keep them open; as it was, alone in the corridor, the wall was the only thing keeping me upright.

"Barry?"

_So much for the silence._

A heavy, gauntleted hand gripped my right shoulder, gently tugging me around. Pressure flared behind my eyes and my vision darkened; I stumbled drunkenly as my head swam. 

"Woah, easy. Deep breaths, I've got you." 

Bruce's familiar bass was soothing, and I instinctively wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled him close. My head found the familiar spot where neck met shoulder and I breathed deeply, letting his scent clear away the smell of death. 

"Better?"

_It always is when you're here_. I nodded wordlessly, the rough, familiar fabric of his costume against my skin easing some of the anxiety and nausea that had gripped me since the battle had ended. I finally did close my eyes and allow myself to relax.

"They're putting him in a new cell. I'll make sure Wayne Enterprises gets the contract for the upgraded security." Bruce's hand traced stiff, awkward circles on my back, but I didn't mind. Right now I just needed this.

"Will it be enough?" I murmured, already starting to doze off. "What happens if he escapes again?"

"He won't." When he used that voice, the "Batman voice," it was usually so easy to believe whatever Bruce said. But this time.... 

"Three times, Bruce. He escaped three times." I tightened my arms around his waist as the tears threatened to fall once again. The faces of the children flashed in front of my eyes, and it was all I could do not to start gagging again. "God, all those people."

"We'll put more eyes on the prison, make sure someone is always watching...."

"How?" With a sudden burst of energy, I lurched backwards from the embrace, managing to make contact with the wall before I ended up on the ground. Blame exhaustion, blame lack of food, blame the victims, it didn't matter, but in that moment, everything just seemed hopeless. "The League is in pieces! There is barely enough of us on this team to keep up with the low-level stuff and no one powerful enough to take on even a fraction of Belle Reve's heavy hitters alone. It'll happen – you know it will! They'll escape and they'll kill -- again and again and again – and it will be _our fault_ because we knew there was a threat and we did nothing about it!"

I couldn't see Bruce's eyes behind the white lenses of his mask, but his lips twisted into a grimace somewhere between anger and exasperation. "We do everything we can – everything the _law_ allows...."

"Screw the law! We catch them and put them in jail, and then they escape and commit more crimes, so we catch them again and they go back to jail, and then...! Christ, Bruce, how many times did you catch Joker, and how many times did he escape from prison while awaiting trial? How many times did he escape after sentencing? How many more people did he kill while we all waited for 'justice' to run its course?" I sounded hysterical, a far cry from the rational, calculated forensic scientist who could look down a microscope and stare, with feigned emotional detachment, at the evidence of the worst crimes humanity had to offer. The keyword there was "feigned;" it had always hurt, every victim of every crime another stabbing pain in my heart.

"So what are you saying, Flash? That Superman's way is the right way? An eye for an eye; crush someone's hand here, break off an arm there, bullet to the head if we so decide?"

Bruce's switch from calling me "Barry" should have been a warning that I was blazing a dangerous trail, but as I said, rational thought wasn't really my forte at that moment. "Yes!" I blurted, throwing my hands in the air. "I mean, no. Maybe!" My hands dropped to head; if my hair had been longer, I would have been yanking on it in frustration.

"You want us to become them; we become the murderers instead of _them_." The icy, even tone was somehow more scary than when Bruce and Clark had had this argument in rage not months before after Joker had....

The vision of a smoldering Metropolis danced before my eyes, and with it, a twisted anger -- buried deep, sleeping restlessly -- reared its head. "It's our fault! Everyone who dies when Grundy or Grodd or Joker or Bane or any of them escapes, it's our fault! We could stop it and we don't! We could protect them and we don't!"

"We do. We catch the criminals and put them in jail. The justice system is what it is; it applies to everyone equally – even the Grundys and the Grodds." He paused, and more quietly added, "Even the Jokers. You work for the police, Allen. Are you saying it's all a waste? That what the world really needs is a team of executioners to save it?"

"I'm saying it's not working! I'm saying we need to do more!"

"You're saying we need to eliminate the threat."

"I'm saying no more people need to die."

"Because we'll just kill all the killers."

"Bruce...." I didn't know what more to say. Truth be told, I wasn't even sure what I arguing. I just knew that the hollow, dead feeling gnawing away at my insides wasn't going away, and I was angry and frustrated and just wanted to scream loudly until the universe realized how unfair it was being and turned back time for all those who had died today. I just wanted there to be another way. Maybe not Superman's, not murder, but something better than this endless, failed cycle.

"...What you want, Flash, then we have nothing more to discuss. Not here and certainly not at home." 

My thoughts were in such a jumble that I nearly missed what Bruce was saying. Even as I heard the words, a part of me was certain I'd misunderstood their meaning. But no. By the time I managed to get my mouth to move to protest, it was too late – he was already turning away. 

"Bruce, I didn't...." _Mean it? Want it?_ Part of me did. The part of me that didn't want parents to bury their children because of us. To watch their homes be destroyed because of _us_. The part of me that wanted the criminals to truly pay for their crimes so that on some level I could believe again in the system I'd dedicated my life – in and out of costume -- to upholding.

Bruce paused, back towards me. I was just a thing of the past for him. "I'm disappointed, Flash. I had thought you a better man."

The echo of his steady, unwavering bootsteps down the corridor was the sound of my world crashing down around me once again. I couldn't yell, couldn't move my legs to run. All I could do was fall to my knees and cry.


End file.
